


The Process of Reverting

by 3x3



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 23:23:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12069069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3x3/pseuds/3x3
Summary: Sometimes you need to get away from your life in order to find yourself.





	The Process of Reverting

**Author's Note:**

> cross posted on my tumblr @thebottomlesspitofbottomlessness  
> you know that line between should i make this a single fic or should i dump it as a chapter in my writings collection?

Tooru thinks he reached a new record when the digital clock on his phone ticks again, indicating that he has indeed been staring at his blank notebook page for the last forty minutes.

He blinks, and savors the refreshing moistness that stopped his eyeballs from drying off.

It’s not easy dealing with writer’s block, especially when it’s Oikawa Tooru dealing with it, because he very very rarely runs into this situation. His mind is always working, if anything, his thoughts are more often threatening to burst out, even faster than his fingers could work. Writer’s block nearly never bothers him. He has his own methods of dealing with it. For example, he would go through his story again, reading over and over for flaws and mistakes; or he would list out the plot again, going through it and telling himself exactly where he is and what he’s supposed to be writing out next; and if that fails, he could always write about something else, something short and irrelevant to his original story, to clear his mind.

But the issue this time is, he doesn’t have a plan. Never had one to begin with. And it is this horrible horrible feeling of dreadfulness and emptiness filling up his stomach.

It’s awful.

He’s not used to having his head  _clean_ , not engaged in some new idea he has, burying his head in pages of paper and being on the receiving end of disapproval from his friends and family for missing out dinner again.

It’s the hollowness that gets him.

He can’t do anything. His mind is a blank, and so he forces himself down on a chair in front if a table with his notebook flipped to a fresh new page, his favorite black pen in hand. Still nothing comes. It’s been forty minutes, which is ridiculous.

He plays with his pen, twirling it through his fingers and watching it spin on his palm. Still not a single thing.

People always say that if you take your mind off the thing that you’ve been focusing on for too long, and go back to it later, it makes everything easier, but Tooru doesn’t see that anywhere.

He’s already gone to the toilet once, and stood up to get a cup of water three times, still, nothing.

And it was  _impossible_  to get his mind off of it. There’ just a constant buzzing in his head that keeps telling him that he needs to get an idea asap.

He finds himself being utterly silly. When he  _did_  have ideas, it was impossible for him to think about anything other than his story and his characters, but when he  _didn’t_ , well, it was worse, because the emptiness of his mind is blocking out any other thing other than the emptiness itself.

He might have a problem after all.

Tooru looks at the digital clock again. Time hasn’t gone by at all.

His notebook flies shut abruptly, and he snaps his head up in alert.

Futakuchi Kenji’s cocky face stares back at him, smirking.

He looks just like he always had, and Tooru, given he’s as pissed as he is, is feeling quite tempted to punch that smile right off the guy’s face.

Lucky for Futakuchi, Tooru still had the slightest bits of his sanity left, and didn’t end up using his fist.

“In trouble, Oikawa- _san_?” Futakuchi teases, deliberately holding the notebook to the fresh page Tooru’s flipped to, inspecting it closely.

“Not at all.” he lies.

Futakuchi ignores that. “How unusual. I never thought I’d have the honor to live to this day to witness it, given my reputation with the world.”

“You didn’t witness anything, Niro- _chan_. Give me back my notebook, I gotta plan.”

“Like you have been trying to do the past heaven-knows-how-long but failed?”

Tooru shoots him the stink eye, but didn’t protest against it. “Didn’t see you coming in.” he grumbles. “Did you climb through the window again?”

“Nah, I just picked your lock.” Futakuchi closes the opened front door of Tooru’s apartment. “Somebody’s gotta teach you of awareness. You’d think a thief wouldn’t be able to get away with stealing anything when the owner is right there in the room the entire time.”

“Did you steal anything?”

“No,” Futakuchi shoots him a half-smile. “But I’m about to.”

Tooru sighs, like he is giving up on trying to stop the other man’s shenanigans. “Suit yourself. Make it quick. I still have work to do.”

“You mean your unwritten story?” he grabs onto Tooru’s arms and pulls him to his feet.

“Hey!” Tooru protests. “What are you doing now, Niro- _chan_?”

“I’m stealing you away.” Futakuchi tells him simply, dragging him along to the doorway. “Now grab your jacket along the way, it’s a bit chilly outside.”

* * *

“Where are you taking me?”

“Out.”

“Out where.”

Tooru is awarded with Futakuchi’s standard “exasperated eyeroll”. “Out your sad little apartment.”

* * *

“My apartment is not  _sad and little._ ” Tooru complains ten minutes later, swaying along to the speed of the bus.

“I hate to break it to you,” says Futakuchi, busy tapping away on his phone and definitely not looking reluctant about what he’s about to say. “But it is.”

“If your apartment’s so nice than why are you always staying over at my place?” he can’t help but protest weakly.

“Because.” Futakuchi finally lifts his head up, tearing his gaze away from the tiny glowing screen of his smartphone.”You’re a lucky, ungrateful bastard who doesn’t have to deal with the pain of roommate. Plus your spare guest room is huge.”

As far as Tooru knows, Futakuchi lives in a fairly big apartment, with  _five roommates,_ one of which used to be Tooru’s kouhai _._  Something about being friends since high school.(The part that Tooru didn’t get was, they are all from  _different_  high schools.)

Another additional information that Tooru knows is that they are a  _very noisy_ bunch. Futakuchi is one of the (very) few people Tooru could name that wears his tongue like a weapon with cutting remarks and relentless chatter. And Tooru’s pretty sure that he’s the culprit of over half of the arguments in that shared apartment. Nevertheless, if he found something to be noisy, Tooru doesn’t dare imagine what lengths their apartment goes through. “Ennoshita and Akaashi had to get the walls remodeled to a more soundproof type so the neighbors don’t have to come banging on the doors every night,” he remembers Futakuchi telling this to him once, “even though I think we’re mostly well-behaved. Except the remote controller wars. I can never walk away from one of those uninjured.”

Tooru thinks that whoever “Ennoshita” and “Akaashi” are, they must not have been in their right minds when they agreed to the living arrangements. That, or they were under some kind of mysterious force that sent them to their graves. When he told that thought to Futakuchi, however, the guy only snorted and responded. “Don’t let those two fool you. They might be the sanest of us all but man when they’re angry you do  _not_  want to be anywhere in a hundred meter radius around them. If they aren’t as responsible as they are they would probably be able to destroy the universe.”

Tooru didn’t quite know how he was supposed to deal with that information. To be fair though, he still doesn’t. He just made a mental note to never go knocking on their shared apartment.

“Seriously though, where are you taking me?”

Futakuchi looks back down at his phone. “Patience, Oikawa- _san_. All you need to know is we’re going  _out_.”

“We are?” he shoots back, almost on instinct.

Futakuchi simply raises his eyebrows at Tooru. “Didn’t know you still had it in you.”

“Please,” Tooru scoffs, feeling particularly giddy that his young, playful side is coming back out. “I’ll always have it with me. It’s a whole package you know? My mouth comes with the rest of my body.”

“Some would say the mouth is the loveliest body part.” Futakuchi replies with ease, a small smile dancing on his face. “Well, whoever thinks that clearly hasn’t met you.”

“Rude, Niro- _chan_.”

“Nah. Just honest.”

The bus skids to a stop, and Futakuchi drags Tooru off.

He does not let go until they get on the first train that arrives at the station platform.

Tooru decides to stop asking where they are going. Futakuchi is probably not going to tell him until they get  _to the place._

On second thought, not even then. He’d probably just gesture dramatically at wherever that place is.

The silence is still strange, and Futakuchi doesn’t look like he’s going to stop typing on his phone anytime soon.

He asks. “Hey, Niro- _chan_ , why’d you pick my lock?”

Futakuchi shoots him a look like he is stupid. “It’s’  _locked_ , duh. Or I would’ve just walked in.”

“You do realize it’s illegal.”

“What?” the brunette just gives him a bored look. “Are you going to report me or something?”

Tooru wants to argue that it isn’t the issue but he has a feeling that it wouldn’t mean anything to Futakuchi, so he keeps his mouth shut.

The scenery melts into a blurry muddle or quick flashes of color outside the large flat windows. Tooru could vaguely tell that they’re moving away from the cities from the rapidly decreasing skyscrapers.

“Niro- _chan_ …”

“What?”

“When will we get there? Wherever we’re going…”

“How am  _I_ supposed to know?” Futakuchi just grumbles, refusing to meet his eye.

Tooru gapes at him. “You’re the one leading me. How can you  _not know_?”

He doesn’t reply, simply sets his jaw and gazes out into the horizon.

Tooru can feel something in him snap, from the confusion when he’s dragged out of his apartment and brought out on the train, all the while being completely and throughout ignored. Immense annoyance flares right up. “Look, if you’re not going to tell me where we’re going or what we’re doing, I’m getting off the next stop.”

That gets Futakuchi’s attention at last.

“No no no you can’t do that.“ he quickly grabs onto Tooru’s arm, "Nope. Nope. Fine. We’re getting as far away from the city as possible.”

“ _Why_?”

“To find you.”

“ _What?_ ”

They fall back into silence. Tooru makes a face, and considers his chances of surviving if he leaps out the window instead.

Probably lower than he would like them to be.

“Don’t do anything stupid please, Oikawa- _san_. I know it’s against your every instinct but please restrain yourself.”

Tooru sneaks a look at the brunette beside him. Then feels embarrassed for having to peek. Futakuchi  _is_ younger than him. But now…he’s honestly not so sure anymore, with how Futakuchi is treating him.

But besides anything else, he thinks that he sees the slightest trace of a smile playing on the edge of Futakuchi’s mouth. A flash and it’s gone. And Tooru wonders if it was there in the first time at all.

They get off the train at last. As far away from the city as possible indeed, all he can see is seemingly endless and endless fields stretching out beyond the horizons.

Futakuchi nods to himself, looking pleased.

“Come on.”

He starts dragging at Tooru’s arm again.

They get on  _another_ bus, this one much smaller and rockier from the uneven roads. They are the only passengers on board.

“…How far away are we?”

“Far enough.” Futakuchi shrugs, and chews on an apple.

“How long would it take for us to get back?”

“Long enough.”

“…I can’t be out for too long, Niro- _chan_?”

Even though his new work has just been published, he knows the readers are always yearning for more, and he just  _can’t afford_ to lose time used for plotting. He has such a clear image in his mind. His last novel has been about adventures and excitement, of fighters and mages and archers, fighting demons and monsters.

This time he has his mind set on writing something more human, more relatable. He wants to write a story that comes from the heart, of ordinary people and places and events. He wants to share, to let his voice be heard. But he is lost on  _what_  that thing is that would make people interested.

“Iwa- _chan_  will kill me. He hates it when I’m nowhere to be found.”

“That’s only when you hide yourself in your apartment, isn’t it?” Futakuchi takes another bite off the ripe fruit. “He won’t. I already asked for your leave. So for the following two days, you’re mine.”

Tooru splutters incoherently, “W- _what_?  _Don’t_ I  _have any say in this??_ ”

“Sadly, no.” Futakuchi chortles. “Apple?”

“No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” he shrugs. “Next stop. You ready?”

“No. Not really.”

* * *

It’s a bit of a long journey, but he ends up being dragged to places he most likely would not have had the chance to visit on his own. Yes, places,  _plural_.

They trek down country paths, stopping in fields of grain and flowers. Down fresh streams and grassy plains. Up fresh mountains and clear waterfalls.

Futakuchi still refuses to answer anything, only keeps offering him different kinds of fruit. At first Tooru resisted, but lastly couldn’t fight the thirst and gave in.

He thinks they must have some kind of problem, to be sitting on the verge of a rushing river, feeding on berries, without a proper backpack or anything of that kind, only Futakuchi’s small impromptu pouch that seems to contain an endless supply of fruits of all sorts.

Tooru doesn’t understand anything. And as the time passes, his displeasure only grows stronger. The fact that Futakuchi keeps frowning at everything doesn’t improve his mood in the slightest bit.

He finally set his ground when Futakuchi tries to get him to watch the sunset at a tiny harbor.

“What are you  _doing, Niro-_ chan _?”_

Futakuchi pauses. “I thought I already made it clear. We’re here to find you.”

“What does that  _even mean_?” he blurts out in frustration, pulling at his hair strands desperately. “You just  _push_ me out my apartment without a word, forcing me on this wacky, sudden trip to  _experience nature_  or something. What am I supposed to view of this?”

“I’m helping you find yourself.” Futakuchi says back angrily. “You don’t see that you’re  _lost_ , Oikawa- _san_. There was once a time that  _you_  would be the one to suggest an adventure into the wilderness.”

Sudden flashes surge into his mind. It was a simpler time of laughter and sunlight and teenage boys, venturing into the deeper part of the mountains  _just because_. That time is far gone, and now there’s only a hazy, mush of dark, vague clouds blocking the view with work and taxes and rent.

“You’re the one who doesn’t see, Niro- _chan_.” Tooru argues. “I’m a grown-up. I have my life and responsibilities. And you’re trying to  _revert_  me back to that…childish time.”

“That ’ _childish time_ ’ was a time that should never be forgotten, under any circumstances. Those were  _you_.”

“Those were  _not me. I’m me now._ ”

Futakuchi stands up abruptly, “So this is my fault now for trying to help?”

“You’re just trying to distract me!” Tooru accuses. “For whatever strange reason you have. You’re always like this, aren’t you? Trying to be as troublesome as you can be.”

“I believe that’s  _you_  you’re describing!” Futakuchi sneers at him. “You only think about yourself, and take every other thing for granted. I just want you to get your mind off of your stupid stories and ideas and I know it’s practically impossible but I had to try before you lose yourself completely.”

He knows he’s lost his cool completely, but stress, the entire day of absolute ignorance ticking off in his brain, and Futakuchi’s general lack of attention bugs him so  _much._  He’s forgotten what  _sense_  is.

“You used to be so  _fun._ ”

It may come off as a surprise, but the well-groomed, polite, Oikawa Tooru was once a witty teenager as well, and before that, a witty child. He loved playing in the outdoors, and exchanging quality trashtalk with other fellow smart-mouthed sharp-tongued people, one of which being Futakuchi Kenji. Even though there is a one year gap between them, it never seemed to matter much to either boy. They still mocked each other, and get along just fine, even collected a bit of a fan base on the internet after becoming famous for their comically critical comments on movies, tv shows, books, sports, and even the latest news.

Then Tooru started novel writing because he’s always told by his “commentary buddy” that he has a way with describing things. And that he would be able to reach out to even more people with his voice.  _Isn’t it nice? Making a living by writing out ideas from trashtalking so much._  Without him noticing, he was no longer writing for himself or his friends, but writing stories he knows that will gain the public’s affection. There’s nothing wrong with that, absolutely not, but he’s also became a turtle cooped in his own shell that is his “sad little apartment”, typing away furiously.

* * *

He wants to write a humane story. One that’s down to life. One that he has firsthand experience of a  _grasp on_.

“You wanted an idea. I heard that you want to write your own story. There’s no way I’m going to let you get on with it while being stuck at your lowest. It’d make a horrible story.”

* * *

Tooru sees it now.

The story of a boy, who lost himself from putting in too much effort he blinded himself from his original root, and eventually recollected his dreams and memories.

Tooru should be grateful. There’s nothing  _hollow_  about his mind anymore, no more gaping hole attempting to swallow him whole. But when he turns, all he manages to say to Futakuchi is, “I’m writing a novel. Not an autobiography.”

“I know. Metaphorically was what I was aiming for. You novelists seem to be fond of those.”

“Not this one. This one only values trashtalking.” Tooru laughs, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime ago.

“Is that so?” Futakuchi cracks a smile at that too. “I think it sounds splendid.”

“Yup.” he replies a bit smugly. “I even have the title formed in my brain just now.”

“Oh yeah?” Futakuchi raises his eyebrows. “Shall we bask in its glory, then?

"Sure. I’m naming it:  _Think twice before you break into someone’s apartment because they might just call the cops on you if they feel like it._ ”

Futakuchi sighs in defeat. “Fine, I’ll apologize. Sorry for dragging you out and ignoring your questions.”

“ _And frowning at everything._ ”

“And frowning at everything.” Futakuchi repeats. “Is that the title, really?”

Tooru hums, and swings his arms around like he always did when he was younger. “It’s a very tempting idea.”

Because there’s no harm in a little realness.


End file.
